I wept a Danube

I wept the Danube

for your meadows and tedious culture

of your wantonness, abandon of early bright,

and dawn, that came too early;

I was not ready

my eyes, still somewhere between the nightfall

catching the leftovers of the golden

from the sunflowers that stole the soleil.

I rained the Danube

into mosaic of your winsomeness, to wash away

the perpetual concerns,

to save the nature of eternity, to wet

the first moment after noon into the sunset, to rinse

the illumination until shades break through;

I fancy I didn't knew the way,

that I could dog the footsteps of you.

I poured the Danube

whole over the gutters of my presence,

insisting to drown, begging to be worn down

by impermanence, and those small knightly visions which

crystallized nuances of prediction.

Ophelia inside me could taste, the holiness

of the last exhale, a cloying gale,

contentment of knowing,

yes!

I am dying today, to be born with you tomorrow,

as tomorrow is more fitting, tomorrow is a greater day.

 

copyright, 2010. Tihana Novosel